Walking the One Way Street
by Shinavelist
Summary: AU. Time Travel. Harry-centric. Voldemort has won and destroys every bit of magic that is not under his control. That's when a powerless Harry encounters an unlikely ally, stumbling back in time to end up in his 11-year-old body.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: After a long time I decided to get in touch with my long-lost muse again and this is what came out. I hope maintaining writing skill is like knowing how to ride a bike or to swim.

Warnings: There are no real warnings but a bit of violence or foul language (may come up in later chapters). This story is AU! Nevertheless, if there are mayor glitches please let me know. It has been some time since I read the books. Fanfiction tends to confuse some facts – which I could have unconsciously picked up.

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my idea. Everything else belongs to J. K. Rowling and some other parties.

Summary: AU. Time-Travel. Harry-centric. Voldemort has won and destroys every bit of magic that is not under his control. That's when a powerless Harry encounters an unlikely ally.

**Walking the One-Way Street**

_Prologue_

Wind picked up, creating rustling noise all around him as the trees of the Forbidden Forest rocked back and forward eerily. Spindly branches seemed to reach out to him from the darkness like skeletal fingers and the shadows cast by the moonlight seemed to slowly but steadily creep closer. He panted from exhaustion, his muscles and lungs burning. He was at the end of his rope.

With shaking legs he crouched down in the grass, his small black form vanishing from immediate view. But even though he knew that no eye would be able to spot him, he also knew that his thinning magical signature was all around the area, a trail he could not hide nor clear away. Not to the inner eye of this creature.

And as expected, even drowning out the rustling of the trees, small branches cracked as the predator approached. He ducked even lower despite knowing how useless it was.

"_Harry..._", a voice hissed. Then suddenly the grass parted and the head of a snake appeared, almost two times bigger than he was, tongue tasting the air and yellow eyes fixing on him. His instincts told him to run for it, but there was no way he could have escaped now.

"_Harry..._", the snake repeated. The scaly body slithered around him like a wall, encasing him, the head looming over him, ready to strike. But the expected attack never came.

"_I want to make a deal._"

Surprised his ears perked up. Nagini, familiar of Lord Voldemort and also Horcrux carrying part of his soul, wanted to make a deal with him? He wanted to say something, but in his current body he could not speak Parseltongue. He also wasn't able to transform back into his human body. What would Nagini want with someone like him?

"_My Master,_" the snake hissed quietly. "_sent me to bring you back. But, as a matter of fact, he is so drunk with power that his control over me is slipping. Do you know what that could __mean?_"

The tongue of the snake tasted the air again, head inching closer. "_I could easily eat you up right now, little mouse._"

Harry's breathing quickened, whiskers quivering. But also anger welled up inside him. He did not escape Voldemort's grip just to be eaten by a snake. But then again... did it matter anymore?

"_But, little Harry, even a mere snake has long-term plans, as you might imagine._", Nagini's head lifted a bit. "_I am very aware of that piece of magic my master planted into me. And I am aware of the fact that you have one as well. It feels polluting. I am drawn back to nature, but this link to him won't let me._"

For a moment, poisonous teeth flashed at the roof of Nagini's mouth as she let out a long, angry hiss. Harry slowly processed the information he was given. Could it be? Could Voldemort get careless? Maybe he had been a bit too sure about Nagini's loyalty to him. But how could this help him? Even if she let him go now... he had lost almost all of his magic to the Dark Lord and everybody else was already dead. There was nothing he could do.

"_You and me. We are in the same situation._" The snake settled back down, her anger having subsided. "_He won't let us go and he also won't just kill us. Not with that piece of him inside of us. But... he will never have considered that we might be able to... use it._"

Now confused, but unable to express it, Harry just sat there and waited for her to continue. He cursed that animagus body he was trapped in. Raw instincts still screamed at him to run and run and just run until he collapsed, battling against his human logic that knew better. Nagini seemed to have some kind of insight into magic that he had not. Using the Horcrux? It never had occurred to him that this could be possible. Not in all the years...

"_I want us to use his polluted magic to make a bit of a journey._", Nagini hissed. "_A journey back in time. I want to be the way I have been before. Free and untainted by his dirty soul. And..._" She uncoiled a bit. "_I believe he has destroyed a lot that you might want back._"

Like a deer caught in headlights, Harry was frozen to the spot, even as Nagini released him further. She looked like she waited for some sign of agreement, but he was unable to sort out the frantic thoughts racing through his head. To go back through time? How? Why? Was it worth it?

He remembered Hermione having used a time-turner in their third year of school to be able to be at two places at the same time. But now he was 25 years old, he couldn't even meet anyone, because no one would recognize him. He would be all alone. Would he be watching himself live a good life, pulling a few strings in the background to ensure a good outcome? But all the others would be alive and if he managed to destroy the Horcruxes in time, they also would be happy. Maybe he even could save his parents. Or even more people. Maybe he could...

A hiss brought his attention back to the present. Nagini looked down on him impatiently. "_We don't have much time._" She inched closer, now almost touching his nose. His whiskers tickled lightly. "_I need you to channel the magic._"

Then the touch came, together with a forceful pull somewhere between his eyes. He felt the connection between their Horcruxes through his scar, now two pieces of Voldemort's soul forming into one. As she had requested, he channeled the magic coming from them through his body. He didn't have a wand, but he hadn't used one for a long, long time anyway. Voldemort had destroyed all wands but his own, so it had been using wandless magic or not using magic at all.

The magic felt good, even though it came from such a foul source. He had been without any for about a year now, so it was like a swig of cool water to a person dying of thirst. It felt like blood rushing into a body part that had gone numb. It hurt, but it felt so right.

"_Harry, if we ever see each other again, hold in mind that I am a snake._", Nagini hissed, while his sight went dark and his mind was pulled into the stream of magic that depleted the Horcruxes and flowed out of consciousness. "_And usually snakes eat mice._"

-

Harry woke up to the dull aching of his right arm. He slowly opened his eyes, now all human again after what felt like a lifetime, and tried to make out his surroundings. His mind was still fuzzy. Wherever he was, it was small, dark and smelt of dust. And somehow it felt familiar. He inched closer to the only source of light, a small gap under a door. And realization hit him like a fist. He knew this place.

It was his cupboard. The Cupboard Under the Stairs.

_End of Prologue_

Author's Note:

Tell me what you think of it. Critique is welcome all the time. I am unfamiliar with the Beta Reader System, but I still would be happy to have a Beta – especially since I am not native. So if you are interested or know someone who actively occupies himself/herself with it, do not hesitate to send me a PM.


	2. Chapter 1: to lose track of the savior

**Walking the One-Way Street**

_Chapter 1: to lose track of the savior_

In his stupor all Harry could do was to stare at the bit of yellow light before him. Memories kept rushing back to him; memories of lying in never-ending darkness, staring at a low ceiling he yet could not see, feeling a distinct tickling on numerous parts of his body that he imagined could very well be one of the spiders he shared this place with. The familiar claustrophobic chill made him faintly sick to his stomach. There had been worse, he reminded himself weakly, trying to gather his wits. Much worse.

He couldn't help but wonder how far exactly Nagini had taken them back in time. His uncle and aunt had only used to lock him up before he had come to Hogwarts. And him being here now could only mean... with a sinking feeling he touched his aching arm. It could only mean...

"What... I..." The sound caught in his throat and he gasped involuntarily at his own voice. Not only had he not been able to speak at all since Voldemort had trapped him inside his animagus body, but also... even though it had been a mere whisper, it had sounded too young. A child's voice. It only confirmed the suspicion creeping up in his mind. This spell had not worked like a time-turner. He was Harry, not the bystander he had thought and feared to end up as.

He was Harry...

… and he could very well be 5 years old. He touched his hair and face, trying to subdue the panic throbbing in his chest. In the darkness of the cupboard there was no way to tell how old he was. He felt his cheekbones under his searching fingers, his jaw, his skull, the all-too-familiar scar on his forehead. He couldn't tell.

He drew his legs up against his body, curling into a tight ball, and continued staring at the light before him, hands still combing through the hair at his neck. His brain still told him on some basic level that he was a mouse, giving him compulsive impulses his human body couldn't comprehend and translate. He wanted to move his ears and his breathing seemed much too shallow, his heartbeat too faint, his senses too dull. As if someone had decided to stuff a pillow over his ears and put frosted glass before his inner eye. So blind and deaf. A mouse never felt blind in a dark room. Yet here he was, feeling claustrophobic and dwelling in memories of a fear long past.

He snorted at the thought. It wasn't as if he was forced to stay here and endure everything again. He was an adult now, 25 years old despite being in a child's body. All he had to do now was to get up, open that door and walk away from here. The sooner, the better.

And then? If he was out there, where could he go?

He just realized that he had no idea. He needed a plan.

Abandoning his staring, he got up as far as the low ceiling allowed him and slid close to the door, leaning against it. His right hand searched for the doorknob, clutching it tentatively. It felt cool beneath his fingers. Being able to do so much as using his hands again – human hands – almost made him tear up right there and then. Loosing the heightened senses of his animagus side, but winning back something equally strong. He doubted many people realized how powerful such elaborate appendixes were. To be able to hold and touch, such detailed messages being transmitted from oh so many receptors. The complexion was overwhelming. It was the first time since waking up that something about this body felt truly right.

He sighed and leaned his head against the wooden door, listening inside of him for that trace of magic that had grown faint and fainter the longer he had stayed in that cage beside Voldemort's throne. It was there, and stronger than he had expected, somehow wild and uncontrolled – the subdued magic of a child who had never learned to make use of it or even realized it was there in the first place.

He pulled a bit of it out of the depths of his magical core, brow furrowing with concentration as it pooled inside his right hand where a wand had used to channel it. Trying to shape it to his will without the helpful work of the magical tool; it took a lot of effort.

But finally, after what felt like hours, he was awarded with a soft click as he had managed to push the magic into the lock. The door gave way beneath his weight and he slowly crept into the corridor, swaying lightly from exhaustion. Everything was deafeningly silent. Harry took a brief moment to clear his head, then looked left and right, only just now remembering his old home. It was weird being here after so many years, yet _this_ Harry had not even been away.

He silently moved to the front door, small feet padding the floor. He frowned at his bare toes for a moment, then shrugged and grabbed a pair of Dudley's trainers. He slipped them on and retied the laces so that they could not fall off. He knew that he wouldn't have dared to do something like that back then. And maybe he just would not have wanted to steal something, not even from Dudley. His frown deepened into a scowl.

He couldn't even shake that shame off now, could he? Pathetic, he thought, but he needed shoes and Dudley had what? Ten other pairs? He was quite sure if he cared to search the cupboard he would somewhere find a tattered pair of shoes, but the risk of being pushed back into Prison Under the Stairs by his so-called family was too imminent. He wasn't sure if he could manage to unlock it again.

He opened the front door timidly, deliberately avoiding to look at his mirror image in the glass for the fear of not recognizing himself, then slipped through and closed it in his back. It was broad daylight outside, a bright summer sun happily shining away overhead. He flashed a glance at his tattered clothes. His arm still hurt. Maybe he had gotten into another row with his cousin, he mused. Or, to be more precise, his cousin might rather have gotten into a row with him, of course without asking for his consent. He distinctly felt like looking more ragged than usual. It would not be easy to travel to London like this.

He trotted down the front garden quickly and onto the sidewalk, intending on at least leaving this place behind before deciding what the best course of action would now be.

While walking down the street, Harry never noticed the robed figure glancing at him inquiringly from the other side of the road, then looking away as if dismissing him, continuing in a stride to the front door of the Dursley residence.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The Wizarding World had always had a way of getting messages across great distances in no time without the use of muggle technology. So it was only a matter of moments for an office clerk working somewhere in the depths of the ministry to notice that something was off with Harry Potter.

A few hurried floo calls later had Albus Dumbledore pacing in his office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry nervously.

"How could this have happened?", he asked the room in general, voice numb.

"I'm sure Severus will soon be back with an explanation, Albus." Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor, hid her own nervousness well. "Maybe it's only temporary."

"The wards don't just collapse temporarily, Minerva.", the headmaster murmured. "The only thing that could possibly make them collapse is the boy himself. As long as he feels at home..."

"I know.", McGonagall interrupted, looking slightly peeved. Silence once again overtook the room, only disrupted by the footsteps of Dumbledore. There was nothing they could do now but wait. He refused himself to speculate. Only Snape could clear up the situation.

Seconds stretched to minutes, minutes to an hour. When finally Hogwart's Potion Master stepped into the office, two pairs of eyes fixed on him instantly.

"Severus." Dumbledore greeted gravely.

"Albus. Minerva." Severus Snape nodded at both, then a look of faint disgust made his upper lip quirk up. "Remind me to never volunteer to go to that muggle place ever again."

"What happened?", McGonagall asked, sounding strained. Snape looked as if he wanted to say something rude, but then he stopped himself, confusion settling on his features, taking an equal place beside the disdain.

"Did something happen to Harry?" Dumbledore had stopped pacing, eyes fixed on the Potion Master unwaveringly.

"Actually," Snape finally sighed and after a slight pause continued, stretching each word in contemplation. "I detected no sign of Harry Potter living at Number 4, Privet Drive."

-.-.-.-.-.-

Now he was officially screwed, Harry thought, looking at the trees and flowerbeds of the small park of Little Whinging from his spot on the bench. How was he ever supposed to get anywhere near London? Maybe his spontaneous plan of somehow getting in touch with the Wizarding World by traveling to Diagon Alley had been a bit far-fetched.

There was still Mrs. Figg. He considered going there for a moment, then shook his head. She would not believe him if he told her anything. He looked down on his small hands.

All this knowledge he had – how was he supposed to act? There were so many things he needed to do now, yet he was that little boy no one would listen to. He could go and try telling Dumbledore the truth, but the old man had always had a bit of a weird way to handle situations, always rather pulling strings in the background. Harry felt that, with all the experiences he had made in life, he himself had become a person to stand up and set things right. And maybe that had been Dumbledore's doing as well. So, even if the old wizard believed him – there were ways to find out if he lied after all – he was afraid what outcome his manipulations entailed.

Albus Dumbledore – despite his good heart and pure intentions – somehow was misguided in how to reduce his good will to practice. That he was magically and politically so strong didn't simplify the matter. He found he couldn't subject himself to victimize himself to the Greater Good like that again. And nobody would raise their voice against the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin – First Class, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Dumbledore was a Grand Sorcerer who had been offered the position of Minister of Magic more than once during his life. He was the wielder of the Greater Good.

He sighed. He suspected that even the Dursleys had been chosen for that exact reason. On the one hand to keep him well separated from the Wizarding World – away from influences of fame and malevolence; on the other hand to keep him humbled. Maybe Dumbledore really had not been aware how maltreated he had been at his relatives' hands. But Mrs. Figg had been there to notice, hadn't she?

Little Harry had not known. He clutched at the outsized shirt he wore. Little Harry had even been able to be cheerful, seeking out the little joys of life easily. Not knowing had somehow made everything easier.

No, he could not tell Dumbledore. And for that matter no other person at school or anywhere else, because the information would spread, as it always had. But that left him in an impossible situation. He needed a place to go, food and shelter. He wasn't about to go back to the Dursleys. The wards never had been of any use in his early life. Voldemort did not have any power, at least not right now. And he just knew how to prevent him from ever winning that power back. The Horcruxes were not to be destroyed easily, but he knew where to find them.

His fingers unclenched, releasing his shirt. It seemed like he still needed to go to London after all. He really needed his wand desperately.

He frowned at his fingers again, realizing another problem. How old was he now, anyway? He was like... nine or ten years old?

Following the spur of the moment, he stood up and sauntered to the exit of the park, down to the shopping street. It took him a few minutes that only heightened his initial sense of anxiousness, but finally he stopped at a newspaper kiosk, staring at the front page of the latest release.

18 of July 1991.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Little Whinging had become subject of close scrutiny by a particular part of the Wizarding World, especially Wisteria Walk. In a small house that smelled of cabbage and cats, the Squib Mrs. Arabella Doreen Figg lived.

Usually she tended to sit in a rocking chair by herself, indulging in in-depth talks with her supposed cats, which were indeed Kneazles, intelligent enough to perhaps even understand her. No one knew much about the abilities of these catlike magical creatures, apart from the fact that they were more aggressive than normal cats and could detect distrustful people. As it was, Mrs. Figg was very much adored by her Kneazles.

This afternoon was very different from normal afternoons, though. The appearance of the people currently sitting in the stuffed living room uneasily, cups of tea standing untouched on the small coffee table before them, would be enough to make the main part of the residents of Little Whinging pack their bags and leave.

Albus Dumbledore, seemingly the only person beside Mrs. Figg, looked like he felt content in the Muggle surroundings. Only a line of worry on his forehead betrayed that there was a grave problem causing this visit.

"Now that we all are seated, please tell me why the staff of Hogwarts decided to come and see an old lady." Mrs. Figg smiled, making a motioning gesture towards Snape, McGonagall and Hagrid, deliberately leaving out their shared past as members of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Arabella." Dumbledore shifted forward slightly, looking at the woman intently. "When did you last see Harry Potter?"

Mrs Figg tilted her head to the side in surprise. "Harry? I guess I had him around... sometime last week when the Dursleys decided on mollycoddling their horrible spawn by taking him to the new amusement park." She blinked once, looking shocked and for some reason angry. "Is something wrong with him? Did those people do something to him?"

Dumbledore looked faintly astounded, but nevertheless shook his head. "We don't know."

Mrs. Figg's anger subsided, leaving confusion. "How can you not know?"

"He is not there." McGonagall spoke up when the headmaster only looked on with a severe aura. "The wards have just disappeared and there is no trace left of them – or of Harry, for that matter. Severus went to the Dursleys immediately to inquire, but..." She cut herself off, looking at Snape helplessly, for once having lost her wit in face of the recent events.

"The Dursleys claimed that they don't know a boy named Harry Potter.", the potions professor conceded as it got clear that his colleague was unable to continue. While speaking he looked like having bitten into an exceedingly sour lemon. "Upon further investigation I indeed did not find a trace of that boy. The only bedrooms in that house belong to his relatives."

Snape glared at the wall, his angry eyes burning into the portrait of a famous Muggle musician unseeingly. Hagrid beside him sniffed audibly.

"That's quite impossible." Mrs. Figg all but whispered. "Where would he have been otherwise all the time?"

Confused silence settled on the room, observed by the Kneazles who sat on shelves and cushions all around the room, keeping a watchful eye on the guests that had invaded their territory.

Dumbledore looked grieved, McGonagall sad, Mrs. Figg perplexed and Snape furious for a reason only he himself could comprehend. It was the day the Wizarding World lost track of its precious Boy Who Lived.

_End of Chapter 1._

Author's Note:

To answer the questions:

1) Yes, Nagini will definitely play a role in the future chapters. What role exactly... I won't tell. *whistle*

2) Harry as a mouse: in my opinion it fits his character perfectly. I only thought a VERY brief moment about making him some strong, rare, special and overly magical creature. But Harry is not like that, he is quite withdrawn and does not want to stand in the light of fame. So he will be rather like a little mousey. Can you, for example, imagine him being a cat? He _so_ has no cat characteristics.

Beta edits by BeccaBaby will be added as soon as I have them.

Tell me what you think about the chapter! (and if there were any mayor errors :3)


	3. Chapter 2: the boy under the stairs

**Walking the One-Way Street**

_Chapter 2: the boy under the stairs_

A grey tabby cat wandered through the thick and uncommonly straight bushes lining the garden of Number 4, Privet Drive. To the muggle eye it was quite the regular cat if said muggle chose to ignore the spectacle marks on its face as well as the knowing look cast at the man standing just across the street. A muggle as normal as the ones living in Privet Drive would rather mimic the stare of the cat, though, naturally with added disapproval, for a man like that one was not a welcome sight in a normal street. And a sight the man was!

With his dark robes, the greasy jet-black hair, smouldering coal eyes and a stance that told stories of dignity – which some muggles might have found quite admirable considering his state of dress – he was a picture of everything not normal. But somehow any frown sent his way would change into very uncomfortable unease, bordering on fear. Maybe the muggles felt on a basic level that this man was abnormal to a degree that went far beneath clothes and skin.

The tabby cat was not impressed. It glared at the man, then at its surroundings, eyes shifting to windows hidden by thick curtains – every once and a while a curious eye was seen in a gap between them – and finally to a small black shape trying futilely to make itself invisible while creeping into the Dursley house. The body of the cat tensed by reflex, crouching low to the ground. Then it relaxed. With mischievous eyes it watched the mouse crawl into the well-groomed house as if hoping it might wreck some minor havoc there. After the rodent had disappeared, it looked back at the street, all mirth slowly leaving its stance.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Harry cursed his black fur. And not for the first time, either. It was almost impossible to not be seen by predators in bright daylight. He had dodged a bird and a fat brown cat on his way through only two gardens. As a human the distance had seemed irritatingly short.

So, Severus Snape was standing in front of his house like an annoyed watchdog. Why ever he should be there to watch the Dursleys was a mystery to him. For a short moment he had wondered if it was a good idea after all, to go back to his old childhood home. But as much as he loathed the situation, it was a sad fact that it was his only shelter for now. He had no money – muggle or wizarding alike – and no access to his vault at Gringotts. And even if he somehow managed to gain access to it without his key, how would he ever reach London to do it?

He had quickly concluded that sleeping in a dusty cupboard was still better than sleeping in a street – even in summer. And as long as he got out of their way, the Dursleys usually ignored him just fine. Chores he could live with, sneaking food from the kitchen he could live with and dodging Dudley was kind of easy. In his younger years he had been a menacing bully, but the years had somehow slowly turned that picture in his memory into that of a panting and sweating grease-ball falling behind him in a trail of dust. Of course Dudley wasn't that big, yet, and thus more agile. But Harry had the accumulated experiences of many more years full of magic, friendships and tragedy. Dudley was just a kid. Harry was not.

He carefully scurried from shadow to shadow. He could hear his aunt move in the kitchen. He saw a blur of her back in front of the window as he hurried past the door. He imagined her craning her neck to get a better look at the scene outside. Well, Snape had always been sort of... extraordinary, even by wizarding standards. He stopped in front of the cupboard and paused. He didn't want to get back in there. He shivered. Maybe... as long as his uncle was at work? His sensitive ears then caught the vibrating sounds of steps upstairs. He looked back up the old wooden door of the cupboard, looming above him. It was no use, he told himself firmly and changed back to his human form, quickly but soundlessly getting inside his cage and closing the door behind him with a small click.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Harry yet again changed his position and shifted uneasily until he had the feeling to sit at least moderately comfortable. The time just wouldn't pass. It had never felt like that when he was younger. But then again he had been ignorant of the whole world, of magic, of all the places one could go, of all the things one could do. And maybe he also had perceived time differently. Time had been vast, there had been no mayor task beside his chores and school – nothing he would have wanted to do very desperately, anyway. His world had ended at the school backyard, he had never drifted from the path between home and school and had not seen anything else besides Mrs Figg's place and the nearby park – and those rarely as well, when his uncle and aunt had important people to dinner.

So now that the world was so big and so full of possibilities and tasks, he just couldn't sit still and let the time trickle by idly. He felt nervous and excited and restless – as though an army of ants crawled all over him or just like the impatient tugging of a Port Key behind his navel.

He wanted to go back to his earlier plan and leave his childhood home behind. He wanted to run, to jump, to learn how to use the human body once more, so he could finally shake off the awkwardness of being two-legged and big and noisy and numb to sounds and vibrations and slow and naked and – and – and he missed his whiskers.

He felt like easy prey.

And just like that he shrunk in on himself even though he knew it was useless. The sound of the front door wanted to make his ears twitch into the direction of the sound, instead he had to force himself to turn his head and close his eyes. He heard two voices, one quiet and one deep and angry. So uncle Vernon was back home.

"Dad?" the cupboard shook as hurried steps all but flew down the stairs.

"Yes, Dudley?" the angry voice of Vernon had instantly risen to a much friendlier tone, weirdly enough it sounded genuine.

"Mom said I should ask you if I can go to play with Piers and stay overnight. Can I?" It almost didn't sound like a question, the "Of course, son." clearly taken for granted. Dudley whooped and stormed back upstairs only to come back a few seconds later, dragging something with him that bumped on each step loudly over Harry's head.

"I'll be gone then!" he called eagerly. But then his bouncing steps slowed at the door. "Where are my shoes?"

Harry startled, eyes flying open wide. He knew he still had those shoes on, but looked down at his feet nevertheless.

"Maybe you took them upstairs, darling?" Aunt Petunia offered from the kitchen, where Vernon could be heard muttering.

"No, I put them here earlier!" Dudley's voice pitched dangerously. "I know that I did! Harry must have stolen them!"

Harry heard Petunia fretting, but couldn't discern any clear words. He shook with fear. The adult in him knew he had got over this old fear at a point in life, had seen worse, done worse, been worse, but the body of child Harry and its instincts and experiences couldn't be easily overcome. He was two persons mingled and it tore him apart.

"Boy!" Suddenly the door burst open in a very familiar fashion that made him cringe. He looked up at the looming shadow unblinkingly. Adult Harry wanted to sneer, child Harry to apologize, mouse Harry to hide. He was frozen to the spot, couldn't even feel the muscles of his face, couldn't for the life of him choose between the urges that pulled him apart.

Surely enough Vernon's eyes wandered down to his feet, white expensive trainers a stark contrast to the rest of his shabby clothes. His face twisted sharply into a mix of disbelieving anger and habitual hatred. He was hideous when angry, adult Harry analysed almost calmly in him while child Harry swatted the thought away guiltily, wrestling against the control of one who knew that Vernon Dursley was just a small obstacle in his life in comparison.

Harry made himself blink with some effort and forced the child's mind behind all his knowledge. He still felt oddly exposed and helpless, but also brave and defiant.

"Uncle Vernon." he pressed out, keeping his voice as steady as he could.

"Explain." Vernon growled lowly, moustache quivering. Harry had the distant feeling the man wasn't at all interested in any reasoning he could offer. It didn't matter what he said, any word he uttered would only make things worse. So he clamped his mouth shut firmly and forced himself to look into the small, beady eyes above him.

"Has it – by any chance – something to do with those freaks hanging around in front of our house all day?" Vernon's voice grew steadily louder until he was bellowing at the top of his lungs. "Did you call them in one of your freakish ways, ungrateful brat that you are? They even had the cheek to ring and I bet you can guess what it was about!"

Spittle flew from his mouth as he continued, face reddening unhealthily. Harry swallowed thickly. "It was about you, boy! Wanted to run away, didn't you? Had to steal from us before, of course, and conveniently forgot who paid for all the pathetic things you needed! And you didn't stop there, you had to sick THEM on us, too!"

Vernon's hands were balled to fists, knuckles protruding through the chubby mass of his fingers. His teeth were grinding. Harry was startled, he had rarely seen Vernon so angry – and in those moments there had always been a wizard or a witch nearby to keep him in check. But now there wasn't. Harry was suddenly quite aware of how small he was, how vulnerable, and how much damage his uncle could cause in his anger – maybe even partly unintentionally.

"It isn't like that." Harry mumbled, struggling for neutrality, sweating hands gripping his loose shirt. But Vernon wouldn't believe him, whatever he might have said. He went for a walk? He wasn't allowed outside. He had cold feet? How could he have dared touch Dudley's shoes! It was useless.

"Take the shoes off. Now!" Vernon hissed. Harry immediately bent down to do as told, but obviously he wasn't quick enough, fingers trembling at his feet, because a moment later a hand was in his hair, gripping tightly and then pulling upwards. He gasped in pain and struggled to his feet clumsily, trying to lessen the strain on impulse.

Then suddenly his hair was free again and he stumbled backwards awkwardly, his head hitting the low ceiling of the cupboard. Hurriedly he pushed off the shoes with his feet, loose as they hung at his ankles, and only then chanced another look at his uncle.

But his uncle was not at the door anymore. There was another dark figure, a familiar black shape against the afternoon light. Severus Snape.

His brain couldn't keep up with this new information, which might have been good, too, because he would surely have given himself away at this very moment.

The Potions Master's face held a passive sneer clearly directed at the situation as a whole. Harry tried to imagine how ridiculous he must look: dressed in rags, standing on a small cot that obviously was his bed, childish drawings at the walls speaking for themselves, and in the middle of it all immaculate white muggle trainers, looking alien like a swan in a dirty pond. Instinctively Harry shifted a bit to the side and into the shadows. Spider webs tickled his naked feet. The black eyes followed his every movement, one eyebrow rising mockingly. Suddenly he felt even more shameful. He quite clearly remembered why he had hated the professor in his youth. And a part of him, the part that had learned to deeply respect the man for his less obvious good traits, wanted to reach out to him to see if he was really alive and well, to see if he was indeed breathing and not the pale lifeless shell lying at the feet of Tom Riddle.

"So, Harry Potter." Severus Snape said in a mixture of amusement and discomfort. "has been hiding here all along."

Harry wanted to protest, but pressed his lips together. The professor must have seen the spark of anger in his eyes, though, because a smirk pulled at a corner of his mouth for a moment. It passed quickly enough as shouts could be heard from the kitchen nearby. Minerva McGonagall's voice was quite clearly discernible. Harry tilted his head to hear more, in the same fashion he had done earlier, a deeply ingrained habit to catch every noise to try to identify it as no immediate danger to his health.

"Come." Snape said and Harry flinched. He cursed child Harry once again, because his feet were rooted to the ground, legs feeling like wooden sticks. "Merlin." An exasperated sight, then a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him through the corridor into the kitchen. His legs still felt insecure under him and he stumbled to a halt shaking like a leaf and not exactly sure why.

The shouting had stopped with their entry and every eye turned towards them – the Dursleys' fixed on Snape, McGonagalls' on Harry. He looked back at her uncertainly, still uncomfortably aware that his arm was in a death grip and he couldn't stand straight because his elbow was angled too high. Her face was burning with rage, mouth a tight line in her face.

"Harry." She intoned quietly, moving towards him, but then stopping herself with some obvious effort. Her gaze shifted to her colleague with a frown. "Let him go already, Severus, for heaven's sake."

The hand tightened for a moment, then vanished and Harry shifted backwards slightly, unsure which reaction was appropriate. He couldn't just go and fiercely hug the elderly lady as he felt inclined to. He hadn't been aware as of yet how much it would touch him to see her, even more so as she looked exactly the way he remembered first seeing her. Proud and confident. At the same time he wanted to tell her not to worry, not to feel bad. Somehow child Harry in him couldn't progress any further, only seeing the fierce woman who looked at him as though he was the product of a crime she committed. He wanted to tell her he was okay. Adult Harry of course knew more, knew better, but was trapped in the net of the feelings of an eleven year old that had once been him and that now was him. Having all these memories didn't make his body older. Some things developed with time only.

Professor McGonagall turned back to the Dursleys, her body going taut, looking ready to strike. One of her hands was opening and closing restlessly.

"Let me sum this up." she seethed. "Since Albus Dumbledore left this boy in your care trusting that the only family he had left would take care of their own flesh and blood, you have been knowingly mistreating him for reasons that are not his to choose. And you..."

Vernon's spiteful laughter cut her off.

"He is not our flesh and blood." he all but spat, rising a shaking finger in lecture. "He is an incorrigible error of life, that's was he is. Just like his parents, failures who couldn't even manage to stay alive long enough to keep their horrible spawn away from normal, hard-working..."

"Enough." Snape's wand flicked almost casually at the three Dursleys huddled together in front of the sink, while he muttered a _Silencio_ at them that was almost too quiet to catch. Anyone who didn't know him would have seen a cold, unmoved man, but Harry remembered his Potions lessons quite well and knew when the professor was grasping to control himself, he saw the slightly gritted teeth, the watchful eye that dared them to move and give him an excuse to let himself slip. Not to see that anger directed at himself, but at someone else for his sake... it was disconcerting.

Harry looked at his bare toes. It made no sense. Snape hated him, he knew that. Despised him for his parents. The vulnerable, open, young part of him felt overwhelmed for a moment, but he pushed the feeling back and forced himself to look up at the man. Black glittering eyes, looked back at him for a brief moment, almost thoughtful. Then the well-known unpleasant sneer pulled at Snape's mouth.

"Harry." he looked back at Professor McGonagall quickly, relieved. She smiled tightly at him. "I guess you will have a lot of questions. I think we should introduce ourselves first. My name is Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and this is my colleague Severus Snape, our resident Potions Professor."

Harry couldn't manage to look surprised or amazed or anything that might have been appropriate when supposedly meeting wizards for the first time in life. He knew it by the way her words faded at the end of her introduction. Hastily he made himself blink, tried to plaster confusion over his features, but he somehow felt queasy to his stomach. Why couldn't he just tell her? I know you! I have known you for years!

But the words died on his tongue. He couldn't say them. What would they all think of him? How would they look at him? Maybe they would think he was messed up in his head. Maybe they would believe him and that was even worse. It would be a giant barrier between himself and a decent life. A normal life. And Dumbledore... oh, how he dreaded meeting the old wizard. His mentor. The guiding force that had led him blindfolded, played him like a card, that had loved him regardless. He would not be able to meet him equally if he betrayed that he wasn't the Harry they placed with the Dursleys.

No, Dumbledore would not trust him. He had no reason. He didn't know Harry. No one did. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes briefly. No one did.

Opening his eyes, he brought a nervous smile on his lips and held out a shaking hand.

"Well, you seem to know my name already, but... I'm Harry. Nice to meet you."

_End of Chapter 2._

Author's Note:

Sorry, it has been some time, but I have been a bit distracted. I still hope you like how the story progresses. You probably can guess that I'm a fan of Severus Snape... err, well, he IS amazing, so he will be quite prominent in my story, too.

Correction of errors is always welcome. I read it several times, but some things just evade me until someone rubs them under my nose. :D

Ah, and another thing: I'm trying to keep it British English, so please tell me if there are errors of that kind.

Next chapter: Nagininess!


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